


Honing Their Craft

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, One Shot, RPF, Smut, david x billie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David and Billie get drunk and rehearse a sex scene. What could go wrong?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honing Their Craft

It’s on a false pretense that David finds himself on Billie’s sofa, gulping down chilled lager while she swirls red wine in her glass.

He’d crafted the idea months ago, after the first episode of her new show aired and he heard her make sounds that surpassed even the best conjurings of his imagination. And so when he took on a new role that called for several bedroom scenes, he saw the opportunity and pounced.

How could he have known she’d have the house to herself?

“So you’re worried about stage-fucking, then?” Billie cuts straight to the point, punctuating her question with a smirk and a cheeky sip of wine. She’s in plaid pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt but fuck if she hasn’t looked sexier. “You’ve done that before, though, haven’t you?”

He should have figured she’d see through the ruse so quickly.

“Yes, but that was ages ago,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Besides, now that you’re an expert on the matter thought it’d be a shame not to hit you up for advice.”

“Suppose it’s only fair since you’re usually the one giving me acting advice.”

“Exactly -- you owe me, Piper.”

“Alright then,” she says, finishing her glass and squaring her shoulders. “What are you worried about, exactly? Need pointers on rolling on a cock-sock?”

She grins at him and her tongue slips between her wine-stained lips. He swallows.

“No no, not that,” he laughs, downing the dregs of his beer. “Just self conscious about the, ehm, _sound_ I make, you know, right at the end.”

“Ah,” Billie says knowingly. Her expression turns serious, as if she’s discussing the details of his tax returns instead of how to best simulate an orgasm. “The guest actors on my show seem to struggle with that too. I reckon it’s best just to be authentic, you know?”

“Right, right.” David sits back against the cushions, feeling the booze warm his insides. “It’s just, that just seems a little _too_ personal, doesn’t it? I mean, those noises you make aren’t the real deal, are they?”

Shit. He’s pretty sure he didn’t mean to ask that last bit out loud.

“Oh sure they are,” she says, resting her elbow on the sofa back and turning to face him. “They’re a bit exaggerated, of course, but based on reality. I mean, what else would I do?”

David laughs and tugs on the collar of his t-shirt, wondering if it’s the beer or something else that’s making him flush.

“Right, yeah, good point,” he says distractedly, picking up his bottle and bringing it halfway to his mouth before remembering it’s empty.

“Oh, I’ll get you another.”

By the time he finishes the second bottle he’s feeling dangerously tipsy, considering the topic at hand. Billie’s steadily working her way through the bottle of red, her lips a shade darker and her laugh a touch quicker, and he knows she’s feeling it too.

“Okay okay, ready?” She giggles, tucking her legs under her and squeezing his arm. “I have an idea -- do your best coming sound and I’ll give you pointers.”

He throws his head back to laugh as he twists the cap off beer number three, distantly wishing he’d had a more substantial dinner.

“I’m serious!” She pushes his shoulder. “I’m the expert at this, Teninch. Show me what you’ve got.”

“Ugh, fine.” He takes three long pulls of his drink, closes his eyes, opens his mouth, and-- “I can’t.”

“Oh, come on!”

“It’s not something I can just do on command!”

“Why not? I can.”

“Pfft.”

She raises an eyebrow at him and places her empty glass on the coffee table. David thinks he sees her wink before she closes her eyes and leans her head back against the sofa.

She’s not going to-- She can’t possibly--

She starts off gasping, little breathy sounds that catch at the back of her throat. Next, she closes her mouth and moans, back arching off the cushion. David can’t help but follow the line of her exposed neck to her cleavage, noticing the way her nipples press against her thin shirt. Finally, she parts her lips and the moans grow louder, her brow furrowed with fake pleasure. David is blatantly gaping when, as a final touch, she fists the fabric of his shirt with her last cry.

When she finishes she just smiles at him, fucking beaming, and leans forward to refill her glass, finishing off the bottle. David eventually collects himself enough to close his mouth and glance down at his lap to make sure his current state isn’t too noticeable.

“Well?” she asks, blinking up at him.

“Well done.” He clears his throat. “Very, ehm, lifelike.”

She rolls her eyes. “Alright, now you.”

“Bill, I can’t.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“It’s just too unnatural! Not everyone is as comfortable about these things as you are, you know.”

“Just trying to help.” She shrugs.

“I know you are.” He reaches out to brush his thumb over her cheek before he can think better of it. She closes her eyes and leans into his touch until he snatches his hand away.

“Oh wait! I’ve got another idea.”

“Great,” David mumbles, finishing beer number three. “What is it, then?”

“We’ll act it out -- then it won’t feel so unnatural to you. Just two people rehearsing for a scene.”

Logically, he knows acting out a love scene while intoxicated with the person he’s always held a torch for is one of the worst fucking ideas in the entire history of bad ideas, but she looks so enthusiastic that saying no doesn’t even cross his mind.

“Yay!” she cheers, grabbing his hands and squeezing. “Okay, how should we do this…”

She winds up lying down on the sofa, head resting on a pillow, and tugging David down on top of her. He laughs and goes along with it, nudging his knees between her legs and resting his forearms on either side of her head.

“Come on, you’ve got to lie on me properly.” She tugs on his hips for emphasis but he doesn’t budge.

“I’d rather not.” He avoids her gaze, cursing himself for not having thought this through. He was half hard before he was lying over her like he’d fantasized about a thousand times, so there’s no way she wouldn’t feel him _now_ through her thin pajamas.

“What are you going to do on the day, hm?”

He’s sputtering, willing his brain to conjure up an answer, when he feels her heel connect with the back of his knee so forcefully it buckles, knocking him down on top of her. She laughs triumphantly, squirming a bit as she parts her legs to accommodate him.

David swallows as she raises her hips off the cushions, biting her lip and fixing him with a look, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Ready?”

He nods.

“Ahh,” she moans, running one hand down his back and tangling the other in his hair. “Yeah.”

David isn’t acting when he murmurs _fuck_ against her neck, gently rocking his hips and clutching at her shoulders.

“Unnhhh, god.”

Her cries are getting louder and he feels them reverberate through his core, making his stomach muscles tense. He’s completely hard now and there’s no way she doesn’t notice, but she continues playing the part.

Knowing he has to end this soon if he wants any hope of saving face, David musters his alcohol-fueled confidence and groans, long and low.

“Dave.”

Her voice is soft and her brow is furrowed and, shit, he’s fucked it up, crossed the line, and now she feels uncomfortable.

“That bad, huh?” he jokes, starting to lift off of her.

Billie simply shakes her head and tugs him back down with her fingers through his belt loops.

She lifts her hips off the sofa again, pressing firmly into him and circling her hips.

“Bill, _fuck_.”

She lets her hips drop down and releases her hold on his jeans, shrugging one shoulder, giving him an out. He desperately wants to take it, logically knows he should, but instead his hand slips beneath her t-shirt and smooths along her ribs until he feels her breast, warm and full.

Their teeth clash when their lips meet but he doesn’t feel the pain, angling his head to the side and sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. His thumb circles her nipple before he pinches it and, when she moans, this time it sounds different.

They’re frantic, after that. His jeans and pants are shoved down to his knees and her shirt is pushed up over her breasts and he wants to taste her everywhere but her hand closes around the base of his cock and, oh, he’s not moving.

This moment was a long time coming. Too long, in fact -- the ship has sailed, and all that. There’s guilt and regret tangled with the heat and passion and, somehow, that makes it even sweeter.

“Can’t wait,” she gasps after a moment, running her thumb over his tip while his tongue drags over her pebbled nipple. “Now. Need you now.”

He’s never moved so fast in his life as when he bats her hand away, tugs her pajamas down, and positions himself at her entrance, groaning at how wet she is. She’s insistent, heels pressing into his arse and needy sounds coming from the back of her throat, but if he’s only got one shot at this he’s going to fucking tease her.

So he summons the remnants of his will power and pushes in an inch before pulling out, letting his cock slide through her folds and bump against her clit. He repeats the motion twice and never takes his eyes off her face, memorizing the creases in her brow, the flush on her cheeks, the pleading in her eyes.

“Please,” she whimpers, nipping at his jaw. “Fuck, Dave. Please.”

He thrusts into her slowly, reveling in the feel of her wet and warm around him, watching the way her mouth falls open in a silent cry. When he meets resistance he rocks his hips roughly and feels her nails dig into the fabric of his shirt when he’s fully inside her.

He takes a moment to kiss her, deep and sloppy and slow, as he begins to move. He tries to keep a tempered pace but it’s all too much, she’s too fucking perfect, and soon he’s slamming into her with his face buried in the crook of her neck.

She’s snaked her hands beneath his shirt and her legs are wrapped around his waist, urging him on, rising to meet him on every thrust. He reaches over her head to grab the arm of the sofa for leverage and, shit, he’s even deeper.

He’s going to come soon, can feel his orgasm building, and in this position he can’t spare a hand but he needs her to be right there with him.

“Touch yourself for me, Bill,” he says through gritted teeth.

She obeys, snaking a hand between them to rub her clit, fingers brushing against his shaft on every thrust. She gets quiet and he worries that she’s not even close, but then he feels her clench around him, moaning a rich, breathy sound against his shoulder.

It’s the sight of her face contorted in pleasure that tips him over, makes him groan loudly as he plunges into her one last time and spurts inside her. He collapses after that, resting with most of his weight on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Fuck,” she pants, smoothing her hands up and down his back.

“Fuck,” he agrees.

“That was amazing,” she says after a while, pressing two soft kisses to his lips. “Don’t do that on set, though.”

“I’ll try not to.” He laughs and nuzzles her neck. “Have to say though, Bill -- now that I’ve heard the real thing, the sounds you make on the telly aren’t very realistic at all.”

“So rude!” She nips his collarbone. “See if I ever give you acting advice again.”

“Oh, come on, don’t say that. I think I’m going to need more advice in, say, twenty minutes.”

Months later, when his miniseries finally airs, he receives a text.

“Nice job, Teninch. Not very realistic, though. If you need more advice, I’m free next Thursday.”

He’s never been so excited to hone his craft.


End file.
